


Te sueño hasta tenerte más cerca, te tengo hasta que soñar no importa

by killingoksana



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Christmas Presents, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eve Polastri is in love you guys, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, New Year's Eve, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Episode: s03e08 Are You Leading or Am I?, Smut, so many feelings, who would've thought
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28458303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingoksana/pseuds/killingoksana
Summary: «She needs something more, something else, for the reminder of their fatal love that marks her left shoulder turned out to not be enough».Or, the one where Eve needs being saved from herself.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 20
Kudos: 89





	1. Ya no le temo al miedo, sólo temo a la espera

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song [_Quimera_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QtSAYCFTnSE&ab_channel=JavierPrietoRamos) by Javier Prieto and Rocío Márquez.

The biting wind threatens to cut her skin. It doesn’t bother her; she is pretending to be too enthralled with taking in the sights of the unfamiliar buildings and statues. She is walking, in what seems to be a carefree state, watching the people moving past her, talking cheerfully, filling the terraces of the bars and restaurants with their cold drinks despite the unpleasant weather that December has brought. She finds it isn’t so different from London, if it weren’t for the foreign language, the drier coldness, the unceasing loudness and the fact that, here, not in London, she is going to see her. She is going to see Villanelle. _Might see her_ , she keeps thinking, because there is a part of her that refuses to accept that she _will_. She is the reason she is here; because, apparently, after all these months, Villanelle wants to meet her. She doesn’t know how to feel in this very moment, really — hasn’t known how to feel for quite some time now —, because she is feeling everything all at once and if she could just shut her brain for five minutes, she likes to think she’ll feel so much better.

With every step she takes through the streets of Madrid, she feels her heart jumping on her throat, threatening to choke her. She tries to distract herself, tries to pay attention to the colourful and cluttered window shops, the children running and screaming cheerfully, the occasional street artist with their hypnotising tricks. She stops in her tracks, abruptly, and bumps into a woman that glares at her yet mumbles some sort of apology. She ignores it, though; she is too busy trying to stop the increasing sting in her chest that it is all too familiar now.

Eve has been living with a broken heart for the most part of the year. It took her some time to put into words what she was feeling. She has known pain, she has known loss, yet never in her life has she felt everything with the intensity that she has since Villanelle left. She finds herself laughing at that thought quite often. It’s clichéd, she is very aware of that, but she has spent too many sleepless nights — copiously unhealthy amounts of cheap wine her only company, trying to drown her existence —, to care about such triteness. Now that she has put a name to the feeling, she is almost convinced it will be easier to go on with her life. She has finally surrendered to acceptance, because she can’t keep denying that fact that yes, she was in love, _still is._ But the object of her affections left her on a bridge what it seems to be ages ago.

She approaches the fountain in front of her and sits down on the edge. She feels exhausted suddenly, which is truly an understatement to the real feeling, considering how she has been living through the past few months. She lets her head hung low with a sigh. The adrenaline of the last couple of days has faded completely now, and she is left with nothing but sorrow, anxiety, and a fair share of anger. However, everything just translates into pain, and she is quite tired of that. _That’s why you’re here,_ she tells herself, _because you need to feel everything else_.

She needs something more, something else, for the reminder of their fatal love that marks her left shoulder turned out to not be enough.

She can’t help but take a look around her. The atmosphere sits heavy in her surroundings and that is nothing new for her. She admires the holiday decorations on the buildings and thinks how nice the lights of the huge tree standing tall and proud on the side of Puerta del Sol might look once the night falls upon the city. But she finds herself once again keeping an eye out for an entirely different thing rather quickly, as she has been since she stepped off the plane earlier that morning. So, she focuses her gaze on the figures that move relentlessly in every direction, blissfully unaware of the inner distress she’s currently suffering. She tries to discern the faces, looking for one in particular, with her high cheekbones and her honey blonde hair and cat‒like eyes, always wide and alert, those that had stared at her with rage and betrayal once, and with softness and fear one last time, always boring into her very soul.

That night on the bridge has been playing on her mind non‒stop since it took place. The image of Villanelle, in her ridiculously beautiful yellow coat, giving her a sad smile after leaving her there, alone and devastated; the distance growing between them a clear mirror to the lengths she had gone to get her. Eve had left, some never‒ending moments later, the tears stinging like daggers against her cheeks. It didn’t make sense to her.

_You turned around and so did I, why would you run away now that you have me?_

She recalls getting back to her joke of an apartment and crying her heart out. The destroyed teddy bear still lay on the floor, a clear resemblance of everything that she had lost, of everything that could have been but wasn’t. It felt surreal, admitting to someone that they were meant to be, somehow, regardless of how twisted and deranged it was, only to be abandoned mere minutes later. That wasn’t the way she wanted _it_ to stop. She didn’t know how she was supposed to stop the monster inside her, but any hope of Villanelle by her side to help her with it was now buried in the depths of the Thames.

And between the crying and the screaming her hand had found the little heart she had ripped of the teddy bear. The sun was already rising when she fell asleep to the sound of the now distorted voice she had kept playing. How it hurt, wishing that she were right there, with her.

Eve dreamt, that morning, that Villanelle had come back to her. Didn’t dare to open her eyes, because she knew that if she did, she would face the agonising reality of her solitude. So, she dreamt, of Villanelle caressing her face gently, playing with her curls while lying in bed beside her. The sentiment her own brain was putting into the other woman’s actions made her heart ache. And she dreamt, of Villanelle softly whispering sweet nothings against her mouth. Kept on dreaming, of Villanelle crying and promising to come back to her with a broken voice. She dreamt of Villanelle kissing her goodbye, taking with her any trace of warmth and comfort, no matter how fleeting it were. The remainder of the scent of the woman of her dreams lulled her deeper into her sleep.

It wasn’t until she woke up, well into the evening, with the tinge of a kiss in the corner of her mouth and a note on her pillow, that she knew that it hadn’t been a dream.

She took the note, already shedding tears, and exhaled in relief.

_Don’t give up on me_

_x_

Soon, any relief she had felt at that moment, any hope of Villanelle coming back to her, faded into thin air. Instead, the worry and the distress took the reins of her days and left her completely numb. Some days she would hurt; others, would only coexist with the pain. It should have made her stronger, she thinks; but now, looking back, she realises she might as well have been dead, if only that would have spared her a lot of suffering.

She has lived on edge ever since. She would spend her days looking through her window, imagining a beautiful face waiting for her outside, with her arms open and a future full of promises. Some days she would go out and search that same face among the crowds, albeit her efforts kept being in vain.

 _Are you covering your face? Are you wearing a wig? I can trace your fucking face even with my eyes closed, you can’t be slipping away from me so easily!_ _I might as well gauge my eyes if you’re not here..._

Restless doesn’t come close to how her mind is right now. Months spent worrying if the love of her life is dead or, if she is alive, then when she is finally coming back to her, have been taking their toll on her slowly but surely. There is a part of her that tells her Villanelle has been keeping an eye on her ever since they parted ways, in some way or another. She wants to trust her guts, which have always turned out to be rather helpful when it came to anything related to the younger woman; but logic — always so disheartening — keeps reminding her to not believe anything up until she sees it with her own eyes.

Then again, after so much waiting, Christmas morning had come, and she woke up that day with an envelope under her door with her name in beautiful calligraphy and if she spent a few minutes or several hours just sitting on the floor crying her heart out ( _how can I still be crying so many tears?_ ) she doesn’t know for sure.

The contents of the envelope brought a whiff of hope to her soul. Inside, she found a plane ticket to Madrid and a postcard. The gruesome image stared at her with its dark colours. A hideous man with bulging wide eyes held a little body in its hands, having feasted already upon the child’s head and arms. The red blood dripping down the motionless body being the only proof of what was life once remains a stark contrast to the careless and blurry strokes. Eve caresses it with her fingers, and maybe she expected the blood to transfer to her skin, as if the sender would have left her own blood for her to take. _Again_. At the bottom of the card, she read something: _Saturno devorando a su hijo. Francisco de Goya y Lucientes, 1820_ ‒ _1823._

With her mind already trying to catch up with the hidden meaning she is sure lies behind the painting, she turned the card around. Once again, the careless yet beautiful handwriting greeted her with a joyful tone:

_Darling Eve,_

_Merry Christmas!_

_x_

So here she is now, ten to twelve of a wintry morning in a foreign city on the 31st of December, wondering if she’s really going to meet the woman she has spent an eternity pursuing, and maybe, just maybe, this time catch her for real.

Eve takes the postcard from the pocket of her coat and caresses the oil strokes with trembling fingers. She is freezing, she realises now, so she stands up abruptly and heads off. She prays that she is right, that she isn’t running into a mortal fate and not into Villanelle’s arms. She never prays, though, yet hopes this turns out right for her. _For them_.

The walk to the Museo del Prado isn’t long, and before she even knows it, she already inside, playing with the building blueprint and trying to discover where the stated painting stands. It is surprisingly quiet there, so she makes the most of it to calm her nerves down. Dozens of mythological Gods and Goddesses, of Saints and Virgins and Kings and Queens, greet her as she saunters down the halls. She tries to appreciate the beauty of them, but the images remain too spirited and vibrant for her liking.

That is until she reaches what she finds out to be her final destination. Dark masterpieces welcome her in a mostly empty hall. She walks around them in awe, for these paintings hold much more resentment and ire than anything she has seen before. Disturbing images with their off‒centre figures in an array of haunting themes show her a world of insanity and perversion that soak through her body and leaves her breathless for a moment.

And then she sees it. In an inconspicuous corner, hangs the same image that sits in her pocket. A soft smile breaks on her face as she stared at the black and ochre hues, the stark white and the dark red. She still doesn’t understand — what this painting is supposed to mean for _them_ ; what she is really doing there —, but when she dares to takes a step closer to take a better look at the canvas, all her doubts and worries turn into thin air.

All of a sudden, she’s turned around and pressed chest to chest to a body. The gasp she was about to mutter gets stuck in her throat as her mouth hangs open. The beautiful face in front of her gives her a smug grin, and before she can’t comprehend what’s going on, she feels a hand burying itself in her hair. She has forgotten how to breathe.

Then, she hears the voice, and this time it’s not coming from her own mind.

“You wore it down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [_Saturn devouring his son_](https://www.museodelprado.es/en/the-collection/art-work/saturn/18110a75-b0e7-430c-bc73-2a4d55893bd6), by Francisco de Goya, is the most well-known piece from his collection of the Black Paintings (which I encourage you to take a look at [here](https://www.museodelprado.es/en/the-collection/art-works?cidoc:p14_carried_out_by@@@pm:author@@@ecidoc:p131_E82_p102_has_title=goya%20y%20lucientes,%20francisco%20de@en), along with the rest of his work).
> 
> part two coming in a few hours, since i was supposed to post this earlier but inconsistency is my middle name 🤭🤣😋  
> hope you enjoy this 🥺🤍


	2. Si no duermo en tus brazos, no duermo, de veras

Aeons go by until Villanelle’s smirk softens into a warm smile and, before Eve’s mind registers what is going on, she feels her girl’s lips on her forehead, giving her the gentlest of kisses she has ever felt. Tears well up in her eyes and her hands clutch Villanelle’s arms to steady herself; and she doesn’t want to, but she breaks down. It isn’t until Villanelle holds her head against her chest, embracing her firmly, that she finally breathes for what it seems the first time ever. Villanelle is leaving more kisses on top of her head as her arms grip her impossibly tighter, and Eve feels wide awake again.

Finally, Eve gathers enough strength to look up at her favourite face. Villanelle wipes the tears off her face with her thumbs, as her hands have found purchase on her cheeks, and she melts in the touch. She can’t help but smile, and it spreads wider when Villanelle returns it.

“What do you think?” Villanelle eventually asks, pointing with her chin at the canvas in question.

Eve turns her head towards the painting and furrows her brow in thought.

“It’s... eerie,” answers she, her voice faltering.

Villanelle chuckles softly and turns Eve around so she has her back pressed against her chest. “It is, yeah...” she whispers.

Eve’s mind is running at miles per second as she inspects closely the painting. There are so many questions she wants to ask and so many things she wants to say...

_What does all this mean? My God, I missed you. Did you miss me? Why are we here? Are we safe? Where have you been? Will you run away from me again? Please, don’t leave me._

However, she doesn’t know where to start. She sighs heavily, trying to calm down her nerves and find her voice to say something, _anything,_ but, thankfully, Villanelle beats her to it.

“Do you know the myth?” she starts, her voice barely a whisper, and Eve shivers because Villanelle has lowered her mouth to her ear level and if she hardly manages to shake her head no, she feels it is the biggest accomplishment she can get right now.

Villanelle smiles at the effect that this moment, that _she_ , is having on Eve. But soon enough that smile fades, and she prays that her better half won’t run away from her once she is done with what she is about to tell her. She takes a deep breath, holds Eve even tighter and decides to just let it all out before the nerves consume her.

“In ancient Rome‒” and she cringes as soon as the name of the city leaves her mouth, but Eve’s thumb is rubbing her hand reassuringly, so she swallows all her regrets. “In ancient Rome, it was said that Saturn had been meant to be overthrown by one of his sons, the same way he had done with his father. So just as his children were born, he would devour them, but his wife deceived him and hid their third child, Jupiter, who eventually supplanted him, proving the prophecy right.”

She falls silent then, the only thing filling in the space around them is their combined breathings. Eve waits patiently for Villanelle to continue. She knows the younger woman wouldn’t have brought her here if it weren’t for the profound meaning that all this scheme must hold for her. Therefore, she remains quiet, even though she is making sure that Villanelle knows she is listening intently, that she has her whole attention — as she has always had.

But Villanelle is slowly crumbling in their embrace, and as soon as Eve hears the first sob coming from behind her, she is turning around and grasping her girl’s face between her hands and kissing the tears that are running down her cheeks. And then she is whispering _you’re okay_ , _you’re okay_ , _I’m here_ , _go on_ , _love_ , _whenever you’re ready_ and Villanelle wonders how it is possible that Eve can disarm her like this, quick and thorough, while making her feel like she is the bravest woman on Earth. And everything is becoming too much but she manages to finally let it all out.

“I went home, to Russia,” and Eve nodding and resting her forehead on hers is every encouragement she has ever needed to say it all aloud. “They weren’t dead, my family. Well, my Papa was, but not my Mama, nor my brothers, but‒ she was so mean to Bor’ka, she was hurting him so badly, just like she hurt me when I was a child and‒ and she was the darkness, Eve! She was the darkness and she wouldn’t admit it!”

She gasps for air, and Eve is still there, she hasn’t left her yet, but she braces herself for the inevitable, for Eve to leave her there and run for her life and never look back and maybe go back to her husband and her past life and her chicken and whatever it was that she used to have, where there wouldn’t be a place for someone like her.

But, right now, Eve is right there, shushing her and holding her and she has her eyes closed but when Eve tugs at her chin she manages to open them. She doesn’t see any trace of fear on them, so she says it.

“I killed her, Eve...”

And it is said so softly and so quietly that if Eve hadn’t stopped breathing for a second, she might have missed it. But she has heard it. She can’t help but close her eyes because everything is slowly making so much sense — the broken look in her eyes when they danced months ago, chest to chest, _heart to heart_ ; why she chose this painting to tell her, how she has probably felt that way, being slowly devoured by someone who was supposed to take care of her, to _love_ her, but instead tore her to pieces and threw her away, like a broken doll; how she had been reconstructed by people who used her and abused her and moulded her into the version _they_ wanted her to be, making her do what she did for a living, having taken advantage of all her pain and suffering.

She understands now, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less. She is able to fill in the blanks, about everything Villanelle might have been through, back where there was never a home for her, where she had to face Oksana and fight a monster bigger than the one inside her.

Her heart breaks a little more when she finally opens her eyes and watches Villanelle staring back at her with her big doe ones and she feels like she is staring right into her soul. Because she has one, albeit uncanny, twisted and mostly damaged. But Villanelle must notice the look of anger and exasperation showing on Eve’s face because she is suddenly recoiling from her.

“I had to...”

“I know.”

The response is immediate, both verbal and physical, because Eve is holding Villanelle in her arms yet again and they both sigh in relief.

“I _know_ , Oksana.”

* * *

  
Villanelle curls up lazily into Eve, still deep in sleep. The sky is already dark outside their windows, making it seem later than it actually is. Eve smiles softly at the feeling of the blonde nuzzling her face further into her neck. She had dozed off almost an hour ago, and Eve had fought off every urge of her body to not fall asleep too. She discovers that Villanelle is messy when sleeping — incessantly moving about, snoring lightly, her mouth hanging open against the pillow and leaving a trail of drool on the fabric. Still, a beautiful thing to watch.

The walk from the museum to The Westin Palace had been short and silent, and Villanelle had clung to Eve’s hand, almost in a desperate way. Eve thought it endearing. She wanted to assure her girl that she wasn’t going anywhere, not this time. She had yet to find her voice, though. So, she just let her actions speak for herself: a gentle squeeze of the hand, a tender look in her eyes, a small smile thrown at her way. Hoped they made up for her lack of words. 

“Lie down with me?” Villanelle had asked in a quiet tone once they had entered her suite, taking with her hers and Eve’s coats and scarves.

Eve had complied with a smile but, in an instant, the déjà vu struck her hard enough to make her swallow her anguish, rising up her throat like pure bile. She shifted in discomfort, turning her head to stare at the ceiling, her body becoming frigid as the memories burnt her mind once again.

“Don’t think about it,” she heard Villanelle say immediately. When Eve didn’t look at her, she tugged at her chin and smiled broadly. Her gaze was so tender and serene that it nearly made Eve forget about everything she ever knew.

“I like it. You _gave_ it to me.”

 _I’d let you stab me over and over again_ , she wanted to add.

And before Eve could react, Villanelle had taken her hand and pressed it against her abdomen, underneath her shirt. They both gasped in unison: Villanelle, at the sudden, cold touch, and Eve, at the tangibility of her own creation.

If she had any tears left to cry, Eve would have let them fall freely. Instead, she pressed her forehead against Villanelle’s and sighed, long and slow. Her hand remained there, as if it would help her find any tinge of remorse and regret. She found none.

Eve takes her time. Closing her eyes, she inhales the scent of her girl, so familiar to her now — and if she keeps the bottle of verboten perfume hidden somewhere in her flat, she is not going to tell. She concentrates in the warmth radiating from Villanelle’s body wrapped around hers. She has spent the last hour watching her sleep, taking advantage of their closeness to appreciate the younger woman.

She is mesmerised with her beauty. That face, that has endured so many blows, that has tiny constellations scattered all over, that is the epitome of both restraint and passion. That beautiful, _beautiful_ face that has her tumbling right into madness.

She wants to touch her. Has been longing to do so for an awfully long time. She wants to trace all the edges, the roundness of her cheeks, the sharpness of her jaw. She wonders how it would be to feel her eyelashes fluttering against her face. Imagines how it would be to taste the fullness of her lips, to bite the roughness of the fresh scar that someone has dare to paint over them.

Eve takes a deep breath to try and ground herself.

_Is this real? Or am I still dreaming?_

Her hand, the one that has been resting on her hip the entire time, slides now towards her back, blunt nails digging lightly into the soft flesh. Villanelle exhales loudly against her jaw, proof enough that this is not a dirty trick from her mind, and she can feel the goosebumps flooding over her skin. It makes her shiver. She scrapes up Villanelle’s back, a content smile on her lips when Villanelle awakes with a groan and kisses her neck.

Eve’s hand comes to rest eventually on Villanelle’s cheek. She had done this, a few times, yet the feeling she is getting this time is completely foreign, albeit not unwelcome. She feels Villanelle’s breathing against her jaw, as the blonde forces herself to open her eyes, her own hand caressing the length of Eve’s arm.

Villanelle eventually rests her hand over Eve’s as she leans back slightly to look at her in the eye. She can’t help but let out all the air in her lungs because the way Eve is gazing at her is intoxicating. The smile playing on her lips only grows bigger.

* * *

It starts innocently enough. Villanelle nuzzles Eve’s palm and sighs. She decides she is going to be gentle, just for tonight, or maybe for the rest of their lives. She will give Eve everything she may want. If she lets her.

Thus, she kisses Eve’s hand, her fingers. Caresses her fingertips with her lips, one by one. She never breaks eye contact.

Eve intently watches Villanelle as she makes a show of her infatuation, not daring to even breathe; too scared that, maybe, if she does, the spell she might be under will break. She lets her do as she pleases, a warm smile set on her lips.

It isn’t until Villanelle licks her middle and ring fingertips and sucks the entire digits in, that a moan gets stuck in her throat.

Her mouth falls open.

It goes on and on, Villanelle’s tongue playing around and between Eve’s fingers, teeth biting them playfully, and Eve forgets how to breathe for the nth time today. She doesn’t want it to stop, this sort of liminality, of some blurred limbo between wanton and sanity and sensuality and sin and abandon and everything in between.

It should be forbidden, the way Villanelle is looking at her, with the most intense bedroom eyes, the way she keeps on sucking her fingers, in and out, in and out, circling her tongue, moaning shamelessly. Her own hips give her away, jolting of their own accord, trying to find some kind of friction that seems so reachable yet so, so far away.

She withdraws her fingers and tugs at Villanelle’s nape.

“Eve...”

“Come here.”

And it is exactly like the first time. Yet so entirely different. Villanelle’s lips are as soft as Eve remembered. They remain pressed against her own delicately, as if they have both frozen in the moment. But the moment is over when Villanelle pulls away, if only for a second, before diving straight back in, and it is all tongue and teeth and the battle about who can make the other one moan louder.

Eve is winning.

She is the one that breaks the kiss now and can’t help but smile when she tastes on her tongue the blood she has just drawn from Villanelle, who somehow has ended up towering over her, and her gaze is much more intense now, pupils so dilated that she feels she can drown in them. So, headfirst she goes.

Hands tug desperately at clothing pieces that end up flying across the room. Eve doesn’t have time to think about what is happening — _no matter how many times you’ve dreamt of this, reality is_ always _stranger than fiction_ — because she is now lying stark naked beneath an equally nude Villanelle. And when the blonde licks her lips as she studies her body, she moans loudly.

“I’m going to make you feel _so_ good, Eve...”

And she knows it isn’t a question, but she is nodding her head urgently at her girl’s words because she knows they are not a lie.

Villanelle kisses her lips once again, deep and slow, and Eve feels it is just a promise of everything that is to come. She feels then her tongue running up her throat, teeth nibbling gently on her pulse point. It isn’t until she tugs a hand on her hair, a bit roughly, that Villanelle bites harder.

Eve feels in ecstasy.

It doesn’t seem to end, that feeling, for Villanelle keeps kissing and biting down her body, towards her collarbone, tracing her fingers up and down Eve’s sides, tempting and caring, and it is such an acute contrast to the way Villanelle has lost herself between Eve’s breasts, licking and sucking on both nipples, her teeth clamping down on the tender skin and leaving so many marks for them to cherish later.

Eve feels the way Villanelle smiles onto her skin every time she hisses in pleasure. She finds herself mimicking that smile as she watches her have her way with her body, her own hands playing with her blonde hair in an effort to keep herself from pushing her down. If she isn’t getting impatient is for the fact that she is enjoying this too much.

She closes her eyes and shivers in anticipation at the feeling of Villanelle’s almost cold breath against her overly heated skin as she goes down and down and down‒

“Will you look at me?” Villanelle pleads, her mouth inches away from her core, staring up at her with the dreamiest of eyes. “I want you to watch what I’m going to do to you...”

Eve grins widely as she forces her eyes to open, too willing to please the wishes of her lover. The way Villanelle is touching her, gazing at her, speaking to her with such a reedy voice, it is almost too much yet not enough at all. She cups her girl’s face gently, caressing her bottom lip with her thumb, the scar over her top one, before kneading her hands once again in her hair, gathering it in a messy ponytail.

“You are so beautiful, sweetheart...” Eve murmurs, and she is surprised that she can find her voice right now.

“Am I?” answers Villanelle, almost shyly.

And Eve is only able to hum some sort of a response because she feels more than watches as Villanelle kisses her inner thighs, her nose almost grazing her wetness but not quite, her fingers tugging at the thatch of curly hair they find, the other hand snaking up to grab a breast.

There is a gasp, then, and Villanelle groans at the first, long swipe of her tongue. She stops for a second, closing her eyes and inhaling sharply, the scent of her lover filling her nostrils in the most delicious way, and holds Eve’s hips against the mattress. She looks back up, at the deity that lies above her, feels her hands gripping her hair so tightly to be almost uncomfortable, but she doesn’t care.

“You taste incredible, baby.”

Eve curses under her breath. She watches Villanelle play her tongue between her folds expertly, wrapping her lips around her clit, sucking it and flicking it. Before long, the blonde is viciously lapping at the sensitive flesh, her tongue filling Eve as deep as she can, until her chin becomes soaked with her lover’s sweetness. She replaces her tongue with a long finger, then another one, and at the third, Eve is writhing beneath her touch.

“ _Fuck_ , you’re so good!” Eve moans, holding Villanelle’s head impossibly closer to her core and threading her fingers with the free hand that lies over her chest.

She starts moving her hips to the rhythm Villanelle has set, fast and intense, till she is riding her tongue and fingers at a delicious pace. And Villanelle feels obliged to worship her, just the way she deserves.

Villanelle groans at the feeling of Eve clenching around her fingers, of her clit pulsating underneath her tongue. She wriggles her bum up in the air, shaking it desperately, trying to get the friction she knows she won’t find. But she is not important. Eve’s needs are, so she speeds up, pumping her fingers in and out until she has Eve squirming and moaning her name above her, a trail of _don’t stop, please, don’t stop_ , and she won’t, she never wants to stop, but she complies anyway because the love of her life is about to come because of _her_ and it is _perfect_.

The image is far better than anything she has ever witnessed, finer than anything she has ever _imagined_ , and she stretches the sweet torture on and on for as long as Eve allows her, until she feels her head being pulled away from her new vice, and she watches Eve quiver in pleasure while she gasps for air herself.

“You are gorgeous when you come,” she murmurs, her accent thicker than ever.

And Eve gives her a laugh that sounds more like a breathless moan.

Villanelle makes her way up Eve’s body, kissing every inch her lips find, leaving after them a trail of the remnants of what has just happened. She waits until Eve relaxes her muscles to remove her fingers, carefully, and soon she has reached her mouth, those luscious lips welcoming hers with every drop of passion that exudes from what they have just shared.

She lets Eve taste herself on her mouth, suck her tongue as she pleases. She feels compelled to pour everything she has into the way she kisses Eve, because it has been so long since she has wanted this and they have been through so much, yet now it seems to her that she doesn’t deserve this. That she isn’t worthy of anything good Eve wants to give her. She will have the bad, she is more than used to that — she has a lovely scar on her belly that she holds dear, because even if it entailed deception back then, it is something that Eve gave to her. But then she gave Eve a one of her own. And that is something she is never going to forgive herself.

She is snapped out of her dismal thoughts by Eve’s dark voice.

“On your back,” she commands. “Now.”

In a heartbeat, Villanelle obeys, scrambling backwards and off Eve’s body, letting herself fall on her back, her head at the feet of the bed. She watches, expectantly, as Eve towers over her, and she is nervous even, if the shiver that runs down her spine isn’t telling enough. Then, she waits, patiently, for her goddess to do with her as she pleases.

Eve is conflicted. For a second, she doubts. She knows what she wants. She just doesn’t know where to start, a recurrent feeling when it comes to Villanelle. She is way far too overwhelmed and still dizzy from the best orgasm she has had in ages — if not the best at all.

She manages to kneel between Villanelle’s legs and decides she is not going to overthink this. She runs her hands over her hair anxiously, tugging at her curls for a moment, before daring to touch the beautiful girl that lies before her.

She starts by caressing her neck, gently, fingertips barely grazing the skin, and when Villanelle’s breathe falters, she rakes her nails, down her throat to her collarbones, to the path between her full breasts. She kneads them, greedily, and she thinks her mouth is watering at the sight; or at least that is how she feels. She can’t be blamed.

“You’re so stunning, baby girl...”

And Villanelle gasps, bringing her own hands up to reach Eve’s face.

Eve rubs both nipples then, drawing little circles around them until they become hard. She pinches them, hard, between her thumbs and index fingers, and smirks when Villanelle swallows back a moan. _Not enough_ , she thinks, though.

She wiggles her breasts, her fingers still grasping the rosy nipples, and when Villanelle whines lowly, far too lowly, she releases them and smacks them, eliciting a loud moan this time. _Much better_.

The way Villanelle is responding to her touch makes Eve feel bolder, and she wants to give her girl everything, wants to pleasure her in every conceivable way. She doesn’t waste any more time.

“Are you wet for me?” she asks, to which Villanelle nods slowly, with her dreamy eyes and her puckered lips. “Yeah?”

“Yes, Eve, you made me so wet.”

And she watches in awe as Villanelle spreads her legs, snaking her hands behind her knees and bending them against her chest, leaving her wide open and exposed.

With a tentative hand, she caresses her way down her chest to her pubic bone, and Villanelle trembles expectantly. Her cheeks are blushed and her hair is tousled, and Eve finds that this must be the loveliest sight she has ever beheld.

They both gasp when trembling fingers find Villanelle’s core completely sodden.

“You feel _so_ good, my love.”

That is all Eve manages to say, before she starts circling her clit at an agonising pace, savouring the feeling of what she is making of the younger woman.

Incredibly pleased, she watches as Villanelle holds her breath for a second, her eyes closed, teeth gnawing zealously her bottom lip. So, she circles her entrance, and without much thought, she enters her with one finger, slowly, relishing in the warmth and wetness that embrace it. Shortly, she dares to add a second finger, so the same ones that had filled Villanelle’s mouth what seems hours ago are now deep inside her; and she sets a steady pace, paying attention to every minute detail on her girl’s body.

But Villanelle only mewls softly, and Eve knows she is holding herself back. She is breathing heavily through her nose, still biting at her lip, and Eve can’t have that. She tuts, then, and stills her fingers, making Villanelle look questioningly at her.

“Loud and clear, honey,” Eve says, removing her fingers almost completely. “Let me hear you.”

And now, straight away, she adds a third finger, bottoming all three of them out before starting again, and there is a bit of resistance but Villanelle is moaning loudly now, revelling in the pleasure and pain Eve is giving her. “That’s my good girl,” she utters, “so much better...”

Villanelle whimpers at the praise, unconsciously spreading her legs wider, and she thinks she has never been fucked like this, has never let herself go in this way, and she is so glad that the first time she is experiencing all of this is with Eve. Because Eve wants her to enjoy herself, and that is more than she has ever been granted.

There is a hand caressing her cheek, and the contrast between that soft gesture and the roughness of Eve’s ministrations makes her lose her mind. And suddenly Eve is adding a fourth finger, her thumb rubbing messily her coated clit, and she is so full, so full of Eve, of Eve’s touch, of Eve’s scent, it is just Eve all around her, and she moans, louder with each thrust, with every encouraging word she hears, because _yes, Eve, I’m taking you so good, you feel amazing inside me, more, please, I need more, please, please, please, it’s so good_ , _I need you_ and she feels it growing deep in her guts, the impending orgasm threatening to break her entirely, so she can only loll her head back and wait willingly for it to take her.

Eve can’t quite believe what she is able to do to her girl. She looks down at her own hand, pumping in and out, in and out, in and out again of Villanelle’s core, and groans coarsely at the feeling of Villanelle clenching around her until she can’t drag her fingers out anymore; until she can just press them upwards repeatedly against her soft spot.

“ _Eve!_ ”

She looks up at her girl’s angelic face, only to see her facing to the side, her mouth hanging open and her breathing uneven. She follows her line of sight, only to stumble upon their reflection on the full‒length mirror.

“Aren’t we perfect?” Eve moans without much thought. And Villanelle in nodding frantically and she is completely breathless and she can merely watch her in awe.

“Eve, I‒ I‒ I lo‒ lov‒”

She tugs her chin gently, making her look at her directly, and she gives her the sincerest smile she has ever mustered.

“I know, sweet girl, I know,” she coos, and Villanelle drops her legs to grasp her face desperately, as if her life depended on it. She is shaking in pleasure and Eve wants to give her the sweet release she is craving. “Come for me, please. Come for me now.”

Eve marvels at the sight before her.

Villanelle moans and writhes and grasps her face. Brown eyes stare down at her with so much emotion that it draws the breath out of her. There are tears falling down the corners of her own eyes; because Eve is there, for her, guiding her through her striking orgasm and loving her, and although she might have not told her the three words, she feels it. It is intense and wonderful and incredibly scary and nothing like she has ever felt before. She just knows. She might be deserving of her affection, after all.

Eve loves her.

The same way she loves Eve. _Devotedly, harshly, endlessly_.

* * *

Her left hand is clutching the almost empty glass of white while the other is lost in a handful of blonde hair. Droplets of sweat are falling down her chest towards her belly and the insatiable mouth that is playing between her legs. The steam of the bath is making her dizzy, and the fact that Villanelle has her perched of the rim of the tub isn’t helping her in the slightest.

She makes the mistake of looking down, at the body lying on her stomach, barely propped up by her elbows and forearms just to keep her head above the water. The blonde has her legs bent and keeps on swinging them contentedly, while she merrily hums against her core, as though she is showing Eve how happy she is in this very moment.

_As if your conceited gaze isn’t telling enough..._

Villanelle keeps bobbing her head, green and hazel irises glinting under the warm light of the bathroom.

This time, Eve reaches her climax much more softly, exquisite and ardent all the same. Villanelle smirks at the way Eve is chanting her name and cursing under her breath. She can’t wait to spend the rest of her days discovering the different scales of tone Eve’s voice will reach every time she makes her come.

After a few moments of recovering their breaths, Villanelle manages to sit up on the bathtub and allows Eve to slide inside, guiding her to sit on her lap.

“Not what I mean when I said you must be hungry...” Eve says nonchalantly, wrapping both her arms around the blonde’s shoulders.

Villanelle giggles and wiggles her brows in a not‒innocent‒at‒all manner and reaches her arms to grab a slice of orange from the room service trolley full of desserts beside the tub. She places the piece of fruit between her teeth and leans closer to Eve, who gladly takes a bite from her mouth.

“How do you feel about partying tonight?” Villanelle asks after a bit, between bites of more fruit and chocolates.

Eve raises her brows, curious at the proposal. “What did you have in mind?” she asks back.

“There’s this party an acquaintance of mine is throwing. You know, to eat the twelve grapes and celebrate the new year and all that...”

The way Villanelle seems to retreat into her shell, her voice barely a whisper when she makes the suggestion, Eve finds it endearing. She cups her jaw with both hands and makes her lift her head to look at her in the eye, for apparently the bubbles surrounding them much seem fascinating to her.

“There’s a tiny little problem...” she starts, and Villanelle’s face drops, her own heart following suit. “I didn’t bring any fancy clothes.”

That makes her girl cheer up immediately, because she grins widely and wraps her arms around Eve’s petite body.

“Well... I might have bought something recently that would look incredibly perfect on you.”

Eve cackles, because of course Villanelle would have thought of every single thing.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!” she continues, and there is so much joy in her voice that Eve already knows that there isn’t any single reason for which she might decline her wishes; not now, or ever. “I really, really, _really_ want to show you off.”

And although she rolls her eyes and swats her arm playfully, Eve is more than excited to enter the new year with her beloved by her side. She kisses the pout off Villanelle’s lips as an answer.

* * *

They walk hand in hand over the stone pavements, getting lost amongst the crowds that come and go around them, flaunting shiny party hats and bizarre glasses, laughing and cheering loudly. Eve finds comfort in the increasing hustle and bustle as they reach Puerta del Sol.

She can’t make out how Villanelle knows where she is exactly leading them, for she keeps stealing glances at her, smiling widely every time she gets caught, because Eve can’t stop looking at her either. She admires the elated demeanour her entire body exudes. She is relaxed yet bubbly, skipping nervously as they make their way to their destination while swinging their arms light-heartedly with every step.

That image doesn’t correspond at all to the ones that everyone had projected onto her: the psychopathic assassin, the ruthless monster, the heartless machine, the demon with no face. Eve knows there is a huge part of all of that inside Villanelle. But there is so much more to her. She had caught a glimpse of that the first few times they got close. And in these last hours she has learnt that there is passion and innocence and too much love than her girl can handle on her own. But she has Eve now, and they can keep learning together. There is no uncertainty and doubt left. The knot in her throat is easy to swallow now.

Eve wonders how their lives will be after this night, now that they have reunited, that they both have come clean with their feelings, acknowledged their true love for their counterpart. She glimpses a future full of venture and drama, of extremely good sex, exquisite food and far too expensive clothes, of rage and devotion. They will be on the run, chasing and being chased, and Eve envisions both of them with blood scattered all over them, claiming in the name of death the souls of those who dare step on their way, who threatens to tear them apart.

She sees it, now, why Villanelle had said she is hers. She is, hers and only hers, the same way she owns Villanelle. But she is hers, not to possess, but to love and cherish and protect. Because they belong to one another. None of there were ready for that back then; while Villanelle didn’t quite understand the deep meaning of her own words, Eve couldn’t even fathom the ever‒growing darkness that lives within her. But now, everything is so different, so much better.

Now, she can’t wait for all to come.

Villanelle tugging at her hand brings her out of her daydreaming. “C’mon, baby, we’re here.”

They reach the entrance hall of a building just a side‒street away of Puerta del Sol. Once inside, as they wait for the old‒fashioned lift to arrive, Villanelle leans in to place a soft kiss over Eve’s lips. Eve hums but pouts when it comes to an end as quickly as it started.

“I forgot to put some lipstick on...”

And Eve rolls her eyes but leans in for another kiss because, even though she won’t admit it out loud, she has grown very fond of her girl’s antics.

They reach the fifth floor and step into the landing, and they can already hear the lively music coming out one of the doors. Soon enough the door opens and a man wearing an extravagant baby blue gown with a long tail yells when he sees Villanelle. Eve watches as they greet each other and embrace, admiring how at ease Villanelle is.

They are ushered inside, not before the unnamed man has planted two big kisses on Eve’s cheeks with the same familiarity that an old friend would do. It is comforting.

“ _¡Llegáis tarde! Venga, coged las uvas y el cava, que ya queda poco_ ,” he says as they enter the living room, where a couple dozen people are already there, scattered all around the place, with cocktail glasses filled with grapes in their hands.

She has so many questions, about who is that man, for starters, how did they meet, if he has to do anything with international crime syndicates too, but everything seems very overwhelming right now, so she decides to keep all of that for a later time and just go with the flow.

Villanelle leads her across the room, paying no attention to any of the guests, who smile and greet them with curious yet harmless looks.

“Don’t take it off,” she says as Eve is about to unbutton her coat. “Not yet.”

She grabs two glasses with the grapes and a bottle of brut, and they finally step onto one of the balconies.

The sight is impressive. From the side of Puerta del Sol, they have a full view of the multitude gathered to welcome the new year. The bright lights of the huge tree add a lovely ambiance to the scene. Eve takes in the animated atmosphere. She can’t remember the last time she felt so at peace. It is a relief, after the grieving she has endured during the past months.

Villanelle hands her one of the glasses and smiles sweetly at her.

“What’s the deal with these?” Eve asks as she looks at the grapes in her glass.

“Easy. Every time the clock over there chimes,” she explains, pointing indeed at the big tower clock at the top of the neoclassical building, “you eat one grape. They say that they’ll bring you good luck in the coming year. Some also say you’re supposed to make a wish for every twelve of them.”

“That’s a lot of wishes,” Eve scoffs. “Let’s see if I get any of them granted.”

“I’m positive I’m going to get most of them, although I have already been granted the most important one.”

She wants to tease her, but Eve just stares at her with the most hopeful eyes, a warm smile set on her mouth. “I’m so happy to be here with you...” she whispers instead, her voice trembling slightly.

The spell breaks when the time ball starts tinkling loudly, startling both women. Villanelle giggles nervously and shifts giddily on her feet.

“Okay, _mi amor_ , follow me.”

The bells ring again with four double chimes in quick succession and Villanelle mouths her to wait.

There is a second of expectation where the entire square falls silent, all eyes set on the clock above them. Eve and Villanelle, however, choose to look at one another.

The first stroke hits, and both women eat the first grape at the same time, smiling all the way.

Eve thinks quickly her first wish.

_Don’t leave me._

The second one comes in, and they follow suit.

_Let me in._

Then there’s the third one, and the environment begins to stir.

 _Let me take care of you_.

At the fourth one, they are both struggling to swallow the last two ones and Villanelle snorts loudly.

With the fifth and the sixth, Eve tries to concentrate on her wishes but her mouth is already full and Villanelle is pulling ridiculous faces at her.

The next four ones come with a failed attempt of stifling their laughter, but they continue eating with each chime.

At the eleventh strike, Eve can barely put another grape in her mouth, and Villanelle is almost crying, hardly breathing with her cheeks crammed.

The last peal couldn’t have come earlier. After putting the last one in their mouths, Villanelle lifts both her arms and cheers as loud as she is allowed with her mouth completely loaded. Eve keeps laughing as they both struggle, and they have barely managed to down the mouthful before Villanelle’s lips are on her.

They kiss messily for what seems like an eternity, encouraged by the sound of the fireworks above them and the cheering below their feet. Eve’s hands hold Villanelle’s face closer to her as they break the kiss, and she swipes gently with her thumb the smear that her lipstick has left on her lover’s lips.

“Happy New Year, my love,” she murmurs.

“Happy New Year, indeed.”

Villanelle steps back reluctantly and uncorks the bottle of cava to fill both their glasses. Eve waits as Villanelle leaves the bottle on the floor behind her and she lifts her glass towards her in a toast.

“To new beginnings,” she says with all the conviction she can muster. She has never been so sure of anything in her life.

Villanelle clinks her glass with Eve’s happily and they drink, in honour of everything they have lost, and everything they have achieved.

* * *

Villanelle has Eve pressed between the balcony railing and her chest, devouring thoroughly her neck as her fingers dig into the mane of wild curls. The biting coldness of the night can’t do anything to break the two women apart, if only to enter back to the flat.

“I think we should go back to the hotel,” Villanelle purrs seductively in Eve’s ear, and nibbles at her earlobe for good measure. Eve feels like she could melt, but she is in a teasing mood tonight.

“I thought you wanted to show me off?” she deadpans, looking now at the blonde with a mug grin on her face.

Villanelle drops her head back and cackles loudly. She threads her fingers deeper in those voluptuous curls and shakes her head in a clearly fake scolding manner.

“We’ll have plenty of time for you to indulge in the aristocratic lifestyle, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she says, mockingly, which earns yet another eye‒roll from Eve. Her expression turns serious all of a sudden, and she adds: “But now, _mi vida_ , I want you in our bed, and me between your legs.”

Eve tries not to show any sign of what those words are doing to her body, quite successfully she finds, and continues to tease her girl a little bit more.

“Oh, dear, we will have plenty of time for _you_ to take me in any way your funny little head can imagine,” she says with every ounce of confidence in her, and relishes in the way Villanelle inhales deeply through her nose, with her eyes shut and her bottom lip between her teeth, as if she is having a hard time holding herself back. Eve knows she probably is, but that just makes her want to tantalise her girl even further. “Now, _I_ want _you_ to show me off like you promised.”

The blonde groans loudly and looks about to throw a hissy fit, but she just exhales, albeit desperately, and leads Eve back inside by her hand.

“Fine! We’ll stay for a bit,” she finally says, an adorable pout in her mouth. She unbuttons Eve’s coat and does the same with her cape and throws both items carelessly onto a nearby armchair. “But this time I’m leading!”

And with that, they are both standing in the middle of the makeshift dancefloor, surrounded by strangers who are too enthralled with themselves and the music to even pay them any attention.

Villanelle places both of Eve’s hands on her shoulders, but they immediately cradle the back of her neck, caressing her soft, blonde tresses, and she grasps firmly her slim waist. She looks unsure for a second, glancing at the people around them, but she looks back at Eve, who is smiling that beautiful smile of hers, with so much emotion in it, that she just lets her instinct take over her nervousness.

They start to sway to the beat of the rock song that is currently playing. Villanelle admires Eve under the dim purplish light that illuminates the space. She still can’t believe that she is here, with her, after months being apart, after she told her to walk away from her and never look back, after so much pain and heartbreak.

The lyrics of the song finally reach her ears and they make her flutter.

_Sé que no te irás, tú no te irás..._

There are still so many things they need to talk about, but for now, she wants to concentrate on this feeling, the way her love’s body is pressed tightly against hers and the feeling of that gorgeous dress she knew it would fit perfectly under her hands; the lovely smile she is granting her with; the beat of the music thumping as one with her heart.

_Has colgado tu bandera, traspasado la frontera, eres la reina..._

She wonders if they will end up consuming each other, like Eve had said back then, and it still sounds nice, incredibly nice.

_Siempre reinarás, siempre reinarás..._

They have their freedom, she has made sure of that after spending months dancing with the death, acknowledging her monster and ensuring a future for herself and for Eve, if she wanted to have her. How happy she is to find that Eve does.

_No puedo vivir sin ti... No hay manera._

Maybe it is time to redeem all her sins to her better half, to the love of her life. Her sweet Eve, who loves her and accepts her just the way she is. Maybe they are the same.

_No puedo estar sin ti, no hay manera..._

“Eve...”

It comes out as a gasp, and there are tears falling from her eyes, but she smiles.

Eve stops and caresses her girl’s cheeks lovingly, leaning up to place a soft kiss to her lips.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asks, wiping the tears away.

“Will you trust me?”

Villanelle’s voice is gentle, almost pleading, yet it holds so much sentiment that it takes Eve’s breath away.

She smiles and kisses her again. Villanelle smiles against her mouth.

Maybe she will have her redemption, after all.

“What does it say about me...” Eve answers, looking up at her eyes with a severe but adoring gaze. “What does it say about me, that I trust you with my life?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay this took longer than expected bc i died from migraines but now i’m alive again but then i got incredibly distracted and frustrated and then it snowed so much for the first time in years here and later also i got very lazy and it’s been like A LOT so pls forgive me 🥺😭 i hope this was worth the wait 😢🤡
> 
> anyway Happy (really belated) New Year!!!! 🎆🎇✨🥳🎉🎊💥 i wanted to share the struggle of having to eat twelve grapes in a span of ONE (1) second between each and trying not to choke on them because there's ALWAYS someone around you doing something that'll make you laugh 😌😜 in my case, i’m always the one trying to make people laugh so i make myself choke anyway 🙄😤🥴
> 
> whatever diving right into what i actually wanted to say: since fashion is my passion, i’m going to share with you the looks i imagined our favourite murder wives were wearing for their NYE party heheh 😚👠💃🏻 
> 
> i honestly had tons of inspo from the exquisite photoshoots my baby Jodie has done recently, but then i saw _the_ dress and well, here it is! so, Villanelle is wearing this fabulous [Jean Paul Gaultier embellished velvet dress](https://www.vogue.com/fashion-shows/fall-2002-couture/jean-paul-gaultier/slideshow/collection#2) from their FW 2002 Couture show, paired with these [Dior J’ADIOR embroidered tulle slingback pumps](https://www.dior.com/en_gb/products/couture-KCP768PEM_S42P-j-adior-slingback-pump-nude-tulle-with-thread-and-bead-embroidery), and because it's fucking winter in here, she also wears the [Valentino double-faced compact drap cape](https://www.valentino.com/es-es/capas_cod16494023980282115.html#dept=) so she stayed warm and cosy while still looking DEVASTATING 🤩🥰🥵 ~~just imagine V embracing Eve and wrapping them both with this cape I’m‒~~
> 
> Eve's look was carefully (obvs) chosen by V, and since in my mind V would want her to be extra comfortable, she bought for her this gorgeous [Saint Laurent long dress in washed silk georgette](https://www.ysl.com/en-en/dresses-and-skirts/long-dress-in-washed-silk-georgette-636000Y059R1000.html) and styled it with the beautiful [Givenchy faux fur coat](https://www.vogue.com/fashion-shows/fall-2020-ready-to-wear/givenchy/slideshow/collection#14) from their FW 2020 RTW Collection. to finish this polished yet cosy look, she wears the [Loewe flower pumps](https://www.loewe.com/eur/en/women/shoes/pumps/flower-pump-50-in-calfskin/L814S01X08-1100.html?cgid=w_shoes_pumps&p=1), because we want our SEXY Asian woman with amazing hair to stay fabulous and comfy all night long 😝😏😈 ~~the heels definitely stayed on once they got back to their suite if you know what I mean~~
> 
> more things to say!!! the song that plays as my wives dance is [_No puedo vivir sin ti_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BBGfHp1-zl4&ab_channel=SubterfugeRecords) by Los Ronaldos, which is incredibly fitting 🤩😍🥰
> 
> also!!!!! special mention to my baby darling [DADKE](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DADKE/pseuds/DADKE) for being soooooo incredibly patient with me and for putting up with my antics for longer than anyone should ever do tbh 🤣 este te lo dedico, con todo mi amor 🤍 (aunque no te lo merezcas por hacerme sufrir tanto y por no quererme 😤) so yeah go give her some love!!!!!!! translate her fics to english!!!!!!! take them as an opportunity to learn spanish!!!!!!!!!!!!!! you won’t be disappointed, _trust me_
> 
> right so that was a LOT oops 🤭 I really really _really_ hope you liked this! tell me what you think??? or don't?????? hang out with me on twitter @ [killingoksana](https://twitter.com/killingoksana) or on tumblr @ [la---villanelle](https://la---villanelle.tumblr.com/) !!!!!!! be kind and stay safe 🥰😘💘


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